This was a kiss that said he’d waited for this moment. That he’d been holding his breath, afraid I’d walk away again. That he didn't have to anymore.
It’s not a kiss just a kiss, it’s a possession. His lips move against mine with a rough intensity, leaving no room for breath or softness.
His fingers tighten around my throat, angling my face up so he can devour me. The kiss is a clash, a war of heat and desire as he grazes his teeth over my bottom lip and plunges his tongue in and consumes mine. The taste of him is fire, scorching every thought from my mind. His breath is harsh against my mouth, his lips relentless, like he’s trying to swallow me up.
There’s no finesse in the way he kisses. It’s neither controlled nor refined. It’s not even disciplined like the way he f***s. It’s as if h
